


Noverca

by CCNSurvivor



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Grief/Loss, Multi, Time Travel, Tumblr Prompt, baby fic of sorts, maternal Zelda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 08:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: When Sabrina finds out about the abducted babe, she decides it's time to investigate Aunt Zelda's maternal drives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- based on tumblr prompts "Can you write a fic about Zelda and how she managed to take care of the babe?" and  
> "Sabrina asks Zelda why she doesn’t have any children and Zelda just hides behind her paper so Sabrina starts to  
> investigate until she finds out the truth"  
> \- multi-chapter, will update when I can - kudos/comments/helpful feedback and encouragements really welcome :)

Prologue:   
  


She can hear her own heartbeat while she is staring back into his dark eyes, can feel the tension in every muscle while her mouth calmly utters those lines she’s been rehearsing in her head ever since she’s laid eyes on the babe. Her magic, the careful illusion she’s spun like yarn around it, never wavers, not even when suspicion mars Faustus’s handsome features. But she can hear her treacherous heart thunder and thump in her chest. What she is doing is utter madness, and she knows it.

She watches as Faustus cradles his new-born son in his arm, not once sparing a glance for his departed wife, his heir the only thing on his mind. Behind her, the girl shifts about in her blanket. Zelda’s ears take in the precise moment her little mouth opens with a plop, the yawn that sounds like the softest of sighs. And for a brief moment, her heart softens, slows. There is no going back now.

The wild energy that ripples through her veins like magic carries her through the remainder of the evening and back to the Mortuary where everything is still and quiet, as though the storm they had created hours before has never happened. Wiped from reality as it has been wiped from her mind since the delivery of the twins.

In her arms, the babe stirs once more. Visible at last but condemned to forever be a secret. There are fears heavy as lead in the pit of her stomach, churning and roiling. Such recklessness is bound to be punished. Blue eyes cling on to brown, as the girl opens her mouth once more, its forehead creasing in a show of displeasure.

“What is it?” Zelda whispers, her voice much smoother and softer than usual; all too aware of the fragile bond she is trying to establish.

The babe’s first sound is just as light, yet equally unmistakable. A whiny sort of cry that slowly expands.

“Hunger,” Zelda notes to herself, as though ticking an item off a list of possibilities.

She carries the babe in her arms and sets her down at the centre of the kitchen table like an offering to herself. Not once does she let it out of her sight. Thanks to her sister’s ridiculous obsession with the production of food, they are rarely short of supplies, and with a bottle of honeyed milk in one hand and the child securely cradled against her chest, she climbs the sprawling staircase to her bedroom.

Greedy little hands paw at anything they can find; her skin, the bottle, her hair. She sinks down in the nook by the window and permits the girl to drink at last. The little sighs she emits between every gulp dance between eagerness and satisfaction. Something new but familiar cracks open inside Zelda, like a deep cut that’s never healed. It tastes ominously like peace.   
  
But the calm doesn’t last long. It’s shattered when her sister comes home and learns the truth. In her breathy questions and deepening frown Zelda can read what she already knows. That this was a colossal mistake. That this won’t end well. From now on, she’ll be alone.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Sabrina notices when she steps into the kitchen the following morning is the tension that has turned the air sticky and uncomfortable. She pauses in the door frame, her eyes wandering to Ambrose who only draws up his shoulders in answer to her silent question. It doesn’t take a mind-reader to see who is unhappy with who – there’s a whole gulf between Aunt Zelda at the head of the table and Aunt Hilda who sits, ankles locked, near the stove on the other side of the room –  the real question is why.

“Ah, Sabrina,” greets the former of the aunts. She glances up from her paper barely long enough to notice her, but it’s instantly evident that she observes her change in hair colour. And she doesn’t approve.

Bravely, Sabrina takes her usual seat and collects the words that form the explanation she’s been working on since last night. But she doesn’t get that far.

“Your aunt,” says Hilda instead while casually proceeding to peel a pile of apples, “abducted a baby last night.”

“What?”

The question is out of her mouth as she spins towards the other woman. There’s hardly enough time to feel relieved that she won’t be the centre of attention this morning. But her aunt remains stubbornly buried behind her newspaper.

“Aunt Zee?” she presses again. “What baby? And where is it now?”

“Up in my room in its crib, of course, Sabrina. Tied to me by a charm. Where else would it be?” Finally, the blasted paper gets folded up and carelessly tossed aside. “And I did not abduct it, I saved it.”

“Well, let’s just see if the High Priest feels the same way, mmh?”

It’s a surprisingly sharp comment from Aunt Hilda, and Sabrina’s mind starts to reel.

“Okay, everyone back up a bit. You took Lord Blackwood’s baby? Is that why you just disappeared last night?”

Now Zelda looks more than mildly inconvenienced, her lips are pinched, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling. “I did not disappear, I was summoned. Lady Blackwood was ready to deliver and my presence was of utmost importance.” She tolerates the looks she receives that range from disapproving to impatient, guides the cup of coffee to her lips with steady hands and takes a sip before continuing. “When I noticed that the firstborn was a girl, I knew something had to be done. Father Blackwood would never have accepted a female heir. And quite frankly, it baffles me, Hilda, that you of all people cannot see that.”

Her pointed look does not leave the other woman unaffected; Sabrina can tell by the watery sheen in her eyes and the way she puffs her cheeks. But she is not about to back down.

“Zelds, I think you shouldn’t be lecturing me about insight here, please. I understand your impulses as well as the next witch. But think of the consequences! How will we explain the presence of this babe? How can we raise it and deny it the truth?”

It’s a little bit like a battle, Sabrina thinks, but instead of hexes they’re exchanging heated arguments. She’s never quite seen her aunts like this, and somehow she wishes they could’ve focused on her hair, after all.

“Excuse me,” Zelda retaliates, pushing her palms onto the table and rising with exasperated elegance to her feet, “I don’t believe I need to listen to any more of this. The child is staying, and that is final.”

Her energy crackles with barely controlled anger, her eyes glisten; it’s awe-inspiring to watch.

When she’s finally gone, the kitchen falls back into its uncomfortable silence. Hilda tries her best to lighten the mood, but it quickly becomes apparent that everyone’s focus is the elephant in the room. And Sabrina knows better than to push her Aunt Zelda when she’s furious like this, she might as well be prodding a stone wall. But that doesn’t mean that the matter is over and done with. Oh no, far from it.

Aunt Zelda never acts as impulsively as this, not without reason. And there’s another thing she suddenly remembers, a comment made by Blackwood himself that had sounded nearer to an insult: _I had forgotten how fiercely maternal you can be_. So there has to be more to this than just the abducted babe. And what better way to distract her own broken heart, Sabrina muses, than to investigate her aunt’s turbulent past?

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just think some things are better left untouched.”
> 
> “Like Aunt Zee’s past?”
> 
> “Definitely like Aunt Zee’s past. Or…well, anyone’s past for that matter. Timelines are an incredibly fragile construct. Slip up but once and you could alter our world forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- this got a little out of hand, I guess? But I hope you enjoy! :) Thoughts/comments super much appreciated! Thank you!  
> \- sorry for butchering Latin again...if anyone knows better, please feel free to correct me haha

Chapter 1:

 

The day that follows is rather curious. Aunt Hilda spends most of it away from the house, seeking refuge at the book store instead. And Aunt Zelda remains locked away in her room. If she sits perfectly still on her bed, Sabrina can hear the light gurgling of the child, the faint babbling, and sometimes, just sometimes, a voice so soft it can hardly belong to her aunt. It distracts her, sends her stomach churning with a kind of discomfort she cannot understand. As though she is encroaching on something intimate or desperately personal. It settles in her bones, warm and dark like a loss. And just like that minutes tick away, lives passing in parallel, tucked behind paper-thin walls.

Sabrina scowls, her expressive eyebrows drawing together, then swings her legs over the side of the bed and ventures out into the house, up to the attic.

“I was wondering when you’d stop by, cuz,” Ambrose greets her when he opens his door. “You were never one to let things go.”

She slides past him and comes to stand in the middle of the room in the perfect triangle of light projected through the window.

“So you’re telling me that it doesn’t bother you in the least that Aunt Zee, _Aunt Zee_ ,” she emphasises, “throws all caution to the wind and kidnaps not any child but Father Blackwood’s first born? And what about the way Aunt Hilda reacted? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her admonish anyone.”

Ambrose arches his eyebrow and gives her a look that makes her stomach churn for other reasons. She really has no desire to revisit that particular moment on the stairs. It’s raw and shameful and better left tucked away out of sight.

“Well?” she prods him instead.

“Yes, I agree, it’s all rather mysterious. But there is nothing we can do about it. Aunt Zelda will come to her senses, and Aunt Hilda will forgive her. They’ll make up and soon we’ll all have forgotten about this.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

Ambrose draws up his shoulders and lets himself plop back on his bed.

“I could swear there’s more going on. Aunt Hilda was just too weird. Maybe Aunt Zee has kidnapped a baby before?” She gasps, excited by her own idea. It isn’t long before she’s pacing up and down the wooden boards. “Oh, what if that’s the reason she hasn’t had children of her own? Maybe she’s cursed!”

Ambrose laughs and rolls his eyes while shaking his head. “What a wild imagination you have, cousin. It wouldn’t have anything to do with that new look, would it? Very chic, by the way.”

Sabrina’s lashes fan in annoyance as she frowns, as though they’re swatting away something uncomfortable. “This isn’t about me, Ambrose, focus!”

“I am focusing, cousin, I am. I just think some things are better left untouched.”

“Like Aunt Zee’s past?”

“Definitely like Aunt Zee’s past. Or…well, anyone’s past for that matter. Timelines are an incredibly fragile construct. Slip up but once and you could alter our world forever.”

She knows that stormy look by now, knows that the warning within is severe and true. But her curiosity wins by a fine margin, and her attention swiftly switches to the crux of the matter.

“But there is a way of visiting the past.”

Ambrose brings up a heavy sigh and pulls himself into a sitting position. “I urge you to reconsider, but I know that you won’t. So I’ll say no more.” He shrugs off his robe and moves past her, picking up pieces of clothing here and there until he’s assembled a full ensemble. “Lie low, Cuz. I’ll be at the Academy, keeping an eye on Father Blackwood.”

“Good idea,” she smiles and walks back to the door, filled with purpose. She’s almost halfway down the stairs when she remembers something and jogs back up. “Oh and one more thing? If the library has any books, records, I mean, that mention Auntie Zee at all, you wouldn’t mind bringing them back, would you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and disappears for good.

* * *

 

Spellman’s Mortuary has a surprisingly large selection of books and thanks to Aunt Zelda’s anal organisation skills, it doesn’t take her long to discover the Time Travel section. She occupies herself for hours with their study, buries herself in the scent of the old tomes until she can taste each letter in her mouth while Salem guards the entrance to the room.

The spells, the magic required really is incredibly intricate, and Sabrina soon realises that it’s nearly impossible to pull off alone. There’s only one person who can help her now. As her familiar plaintively meows, she plucks a strand of Aunt Zelda’s golden hair from her coat and then leaves the house, a thick volume tucked away in her bag.

* * *

 

  
Miss Wardwell’s house lies at the other end of town, guarded by a line of trees that form the border of the forest. Sabrina is out of breath by the time she arrives, but the smoke billowing from the chimney eases her mind. She knocks twice on the heavy wooden door, and it takes less than another beat before Miss Wardwell stands before her, all voluminous curls and elegance. One dark eyebrow rises in lieu of both, greeting and question. There are daggers in her impatient smile.

“Sabrina, what a surprise. Is everything alright?” Her dark eyes skim over her silver hair. Sabrina unconsciously reaches up to touch it.

“Yes, just fine. Thank you, Miss Wardwell. Can I come in?”

“Of course; you needn’t even ask.”

Still, Sabrina feels that she isn’t welcome, as though she’s nearly stumbled onto something secret she wasn’t meant to see. The energy around her in the house feels different, too. It smells of burning embers and something vaguely reminiscent of cologne. She grimaces at the possible implications, shifts her weight from one foot to the other and finds a safe spot somewhere on Miss Wardwell’s forehead to focus on.

“There’s a piece of magic I want to perform, but I need someone to watch me.”

“And you’ve come to me?” The other woman fans her hand to her chest, a flattered look upon her face.

“Yeah. My aunties don’t really know yet about…” Sabrina trails off and gestures to her hair. Though it surprises her that they haven’t felt the change. Her magic surges through her veins and tingles at the tips of her fingers, it bites and zings and thunders like blood in her ears. Her body too small of a vessel for the sheer force of it.

“Ah,” Miss Wardwell nods, before pointing at one of the chairs, “sit, sit.”

“And I thought it would be a good exercise in controlling what’s new before I rejoin the Academy.”

“Smart.” The dark eyes are glistening, observing. “So what can I do? Just watch?”

“Supervise. Have you ever…travelled in time?”

The look in the dark eyes changes, it bears a curiosity that borders on hunger. But Sabrina is too wrapped up to notice. “Not personally, no. But I can see the appeal. Were you thinking of a particular period, or?” Her tongue darts out to moisten her red lips.

“I…have something in mind.”

She thinks about Auntie Zee and the child, the whispers of secrets everywhere and decides that nothing more needs to seep out just yet. But the anticipation lingers in the air between them, growing tense and heavy. Surprisingly, it’s Miss Wardwell who relents first.

“Then follow me.”

“We’re not staying here?”

The other woman has stopped by the door, the fingernail of her index finger taps once against the wood. “You’re travelling in time, Sabrina, not in space. And I assume you know the rules? No meddling, no interfering. What do you think would happen if you suddenly showed up in my living room and bumped into me?”

It’s a logical enough point, she admits, and grabbing her bag jogs after her teacher. “So we’re going into the woods?”

Miss Wardwell’s strides are long and purposeful, growing more confident the further they carry her away from the house.

“You know how special they are. How many mysteries they hold.” She pauses abruptly and turns to her with a sweet smile. “I couldn’t think of a better place.”

So Sabrina finds herself kneeling in balmy soil a moment later, clutching the strand of her aunt’s hair like it’s a lifeline. Miss Wardwell has taken to the shadows behind her, but she can feel her presence.

“You must settle on one point in the timeline, be clear, sharpen your mind. Time travel is a precise art. One slip and you might be lost forever. And remember, do not dwell indefinitely. We’re not meant to live in the past. You don’t want to get lot forever, do you?”

_Quod praeteritum et praesens fiet unum_  
_Tollat me ad hoc tempus_  
 _Me videbunt veritatem_  
 _Bonus aut malus_

As the incantation leaves her lips, Aunt Zelda’s strand of hair loops itself around her finger until it bites into her skin. It tears and tears until the flesh tingles numbly and heat rushes to her face. With a sudden surge of fear, she remembers Ambrose’s warning; her mind slips. Her body is overflowing with energy, and the picture of Zelda she was holding on to evaporates.

What year did she mean to travel to?

How old might her aunt have been?

She can feel her lungs burning, desperate for oxygen, can feels Satan’s hands on her body, squeezing and squeezing, life dwindling…

The earth lurches sickeningly and suddenly there’s air. Icy cold but fresh. Sabrina gasps and groans, sucks in it ravenously until she coughs and splutters. She is back in the clearing in the woods and nothing looks changed, save for the frost that has gathered on the ground around her. Winter time, she thinks, and pushes herself up.

The strand of hair has loosened around her skin, but the fingertip is ghostly white. With one firm tug, she pulls out her own silver hair and ties it like a beacon around one of the branches. For a moment her stomach revolts, but then she remembers how precious little time she has and goes staggering off in the direction of the Mortuary.

She walks until she can see the sign dancing in the wind, before ducking under the cover of the trees once more. Twilight is nearly upon them and lights are twinkling invitingly from inside the house. Apprehension stops her from drawing closer like a protective barrier. But she cannot formulate what she is frightened to see. Silently, minutes tick by until Sabrina finally rests her hand on the old, familiar structure of the Mortuary.

Voices drift about faintly inside. She balls her fists and bravely takes a peek. Her aunts are sitting at the kitchen table, Hilda has her back to her, her shoulders shaking. Zelda, pale and regal and only a tiny bit younger, reclines directly opposite her. She’s smoking, exhaling the fumes impatiently.

“For Satan’s sake, Hilda, do stop crying.”

Sabrina frowns and whispers an incantation that amplifies the sound.

“I’m… _trying_ , Zelda.”

“The spirits were taking over the house and needed to be slain.” Another puff of the cigarette, all the while her expression remains the same.

“I…I know. But the poor lamb. To think that she was feeding them all this time, because she thought they were the ghosts of her parents.” Hilda gasps out another sob. “Just breaks your heart.”

Something strange flickers over Aunt Zelda’s face as she puts out her cigarette. It’s subtle and fleeting but definitely there; the kaleidoscope of grief contained within one twitch of the eyebrow.

“Edward is gone,” she announces firmly while pushing away from the table; her voice is frayed with darkness. “The sooner the child realises that the better.”

Out in the cold, Sabrina distractedly registers her own pain. Perhaps she’s always instinctively known where she’s landed. Oblivious to the shadows that are looming large behind her in the forest, she draws on her energies to float up to her own bedroom window.

Something small is curled up under a pile of blankets on her bed. Tiny sniffles resonate dully from inside the room. By their own accord, Sabrina’s fingers inch towards the window, touch the glass until suddenly the door is flung open and Aunt Zelda appears, sending her hurtling for cover.

“Sabrina.”

Upon closer inspection, she notices how tired her auntie looks. There’s no doubt that she’s younger, and yet lines of sadness have nestled into her skin that she cannot recall seeing in the present. They’re like whip lashes, she thinks, deep and angry one moment, then faded and pale under the influence of time.

“Sabrina, you are no longer a babe. Show yourself when you are spoken to.”

The bundle of blankets tremors and slowly a mop of blonde hair emerges. “S-sorry, Auntie Zee.”

Outside the window, Sabrina’s heart constricts. It’s as though her very being is coiled and twisted. But she doesn’t look away.

With all the grace of a deity, Zelda perches on the edge of the bed. With both hands she cups the little girl’s face; her fond smile falters.

“Your father loved you very much.” Her voice, husky though it may be, obeys her. But there’s a glassy look in her eyes Sabrina has only witnessed once or twice.

Inside, the little girl hiccups a sob and Zelda collects the tears with a brush of her thumbs.

“You will do him proud.”

And without warning, the girl flings herself into her arms, buries herself so deeply as though she’s hoping to disappear. And Sabrina can smell Aunt Zelda’s perfume, she can smell the warm scent of her hair. Salt rolls down her own cheeks, drips from her chin. The shadows behind her have grown larger still, she can sense them now, prickling at the back of her neck.

But she doesn’t want to leave. Instead, her eyes cling on to Zelda, who remains tall and composed, a fortress of strength and security. Her arms have wrapped around the girl, her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. Once or twice her lashes flutter against the sheen of moisture.

Sabrina cannot make out what whispered words she offers to the grieving girl. But they remain like that for a long time until silence has swallowed up the sobs and fatigue has made their bones weary.

Sabrina stays long enough to watch Aunt Zelda tuck in the sleeping girl, lingers until the firm line of her squared shoulders fades from view. Only then does she touch the ground, and she runs, runs, runs until she reaches the spot in the clearing that she’s marked. She doesn’t remember uttering the incantation, she doesn’t remember the ever-encroaching darkness or the journey. As she lands with a thump in the present, all she can feel is the dull ache in her chest and a childish longing to be held.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sabrina heads into the forest next to meet with Miss Wardwell, she has a plan. She needs to after what happened the last time she tried to venture into her aunt’s past - at least while her powers are still unruly and her mind so restless.
> 
> Tonight, she is going to use another strand of Zelda’s hair plucked from her brush to travel all the way back in time to her years spent at the Academy of Unseen Arts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- sorry this took a while, I only realised 2 pages in that I couldn't possibly cram everything I wanted to in this chapter. But  
>  there was still a lot to get through for this bit.  
> \- some of the hints and mysteries will be explained in chapters to come, I promise.  
> \- Merry Christmas if you celebrate :) Thanks for leaving kudos and so on and special thank you for those who comment.   
>  Please, please, please keep giving me feedback. I cannot tell you how much it means to me :)

Chapter 2:

 

 

By the time she reaches home, her mind still hasn’t cleared. It’s too full, she’s too full; there’s a tapestry of scar tissue under her skin. So she doesn’t register until she’s set a first step on the stairs leading up to the house that Aunt Zelda is outside on the porch. In her arms she’s cradling the babe, her eyes are fixed somewhere on the horizon.

Sabrina pauses, one hand on the bannister, her own eyes suddenly full of tears. “Can I join you for a bit?”

Maybe it’s the uncharacteristic question that has her auntie looking up, or maybe it’s her tone of voice. Whatever it is, Zelda seems mildly surprised, as if she’d anticipated to just be ignored.

“Of course,” she nods, lifting one hand from the bundle of black blankets to offer a sweeping gesture of invitation. “You’re not still crying over that mortal boy, are you?”

Sabrina climbs the stairs and rounds the deck, then lets herself fall into a chair next to her aunt. Her thumb brushes away an errant tear. “I’m not crying at all, Aunt Zee. The wind is stinging in my eyes.”

Both women permit silence to settle, each content with the unspoken truth that lingers between them. Several minutes pass while darkness paints the sky with bold strokes. Fireflies dance in the shadows of the forest.

“Does she have a name yet?” Sabrina asks.

The baby’s dark eyes are focused intently on Aunt Zelda, as if she’s her whole universe. Its tiny lips are closed around a pacifier and every once in a while – somewhere between suckling and swallowing – soft, content sighs can be heard.

“I have indeed. I thought Leticia would suit her just fine.” Aunt Zee bends her head, her golden red hair falling like a curtain of silk over the bundle in her arms. “A special name for a special child.”

Heaviness grips her thickly once more; it’s a leaden, wearisome beast in her chest that won’t let her rest. She remembers Aunt Zelda’s perfume and the warm scent of her hair, she thinks about the fleeting ghost of her mother’s presence. And when the baby grasps with chubby fingers for a fistful of those golden red strands and her aunt’s laugh rings out warmly between them, she averts her eyes. She cannot bear to see more, not tonight.

Instead, the forbidden question makes it past her lips. “Did you ever want to have children, Aunt Zee?”

A beat, then a most dignified response.

“Yes.” One syllable, three letters, and a whole maelstrom of emotions. “Sabrina, are you certain that nothing happened? You’re acting very peculiar.”

Tears are splashing down her cheeks before she can stop them, her bottom lip trembles and already the first sob breaks out.

“I really need a hug.”

It sounds pitiful and stupid and Satan knows offers no answers, but Aunt Zelda is with her almost immediately, arms wrapped tightly around her. Still as strong and reliable as ever. Still as comforting. The babe between them wiggles lightly but makes no fuss. Zelda’s warmth extends to them both.   


*  *  *

 

 

When Sabrina awakens the following morning to pale rays of sunlight streaming in through her window, she feels a little bit better. The grief isn’t gone entirely, but she’s patched up the emptiness inside her sufficiently. She will forever be parent-less, she knows, but at least she has a loving home.

At breakfast, nothing much has changed, except for Ambrose being gone still and Hilda feeding the babe instead of Zelda. She’s holding the little bundle like one might an offering of peace.

“Good morning, darling. I’ve saved you some pancakes.”

“Great. I’m starving.”

“Been spending a lot of energy, have we?” Hilda asks lightly but most definitely probingly, and Sabrina feels that suddenly her hair colour has become the focal point, after all. She buys herself some time by cutting into the stack of pancakes and shovelling forkfuls into her mouth. A dollop of syrup helps wash it all down.

“Don’t worry, auntie, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

It’s a vague response but Aunt Hilda isn’t stupid; realisation dawns alongside sadness in her eyes. She nods and offers a bottle to the babe in her arms, and Sabrina can’t help but think that she’s always wanted another path for her.

Thankfully, Ambrose breezes into the house at precisely that moment. He’s still wearing the clothes from the day before and nastily collects a couple of bread rolls and a jar of jam.

“Only passing through,” he announces when he notices two pairs of eyes following him, but Sabrina is quick on her feet and catches up with him before he can leave.

“Any luck with that task I gave you?”

“Just…just be careful, love,” Aunt Hilda calls plaintively after her, “is all I’m saying. You’re not invincible.”

Ambrose continues on undeterred.

“Well, surprisingly – considering how much of a fuss Aunt Zee likes to make about herself -,” he says, stealing a mischievous glance at Zelda’s bedroom door in passing, “there weren’t many records of her time at the Academy. But, I did get a year book.”

He grins broadly as though he has the juiciest secret and then climbs the steps two at a time until they reach his room in the attic.

The volume in question is thick and leather-bound, its pages discoloured and musty. Sabrina is so focused on finding her aunt that she disregards any other familiar faces she comes across. And even when she finally locates her picture, she keeps staring at it as though it’s a completely different person. Painted in oil, Zelda resembles an angel or a virgin maiden. Her long-flowing hair extends over her shoulders and is braided here and there in the style of the time. Were it not for the haughty look in her eyes or the proud tilt of her chin, she might have been unrecognisable.

_Zelda Phiona Spellman_ , the inscription reads, _witch of elemental magic and midwifery._

Sabrina raises her eyes from the book long enough to shoot Ambrose a questioning glance.

“Back then witches and warlocks had to choose a particular path of study, much like mortals nowadays are picking their majors. For women, however, possible subjects were relatively limited. You’d hardly see one witch who wasn’t trained to be a midwife, and elemental magic was thought to better suit women whose whims and moods could be as unpredictable as the elements themselves.”

He is wearing that wry smile that indicates that he isn’t overly impressed either.

“What a load of bullshit,” Sabrina mutters in response and carefully touches her aunt’s face with the pad of her index finger. “How come nobody ever tried to break out of it?”

“Oh Sabrina, we’re talking about centuries ago. They were fortunate enough to be granted an education at all. And besides, not everybody gets away with as much as you do.”

  
* * *

 

 

When Sabrina heads into the forest next to meet with Miss Wardwell, she has a plan. She needs to after what happened the last time she tried to venture into her aunt’s past - at least while her powers are still unruly and her mind so restless.

Tonight, she is going to use another strand of Zelda’s hair plucked from her brush to travel all the way back in time to her years spent at the Academy of Unseen Arts. That way she won’t run the risk of being confronted with herself or the loss of her parents again. From Hilda’s magical pantry, she’s also stolen two bottles of invisibility smoothies to ensure that she won’t bump into anyone along the way. She should feel ready, but the prospect of her undertaking is still daunting.

Miss Wardwell is waiting for her at the clearing, clad in a black trench coat, her dark hair wild like the mane of a lion.

“Are you certain there isn’t something I can help you look for?” she asks in lieu of a greeting, but the hunger in her tone only strengthens Sabrina’s belief to keep her cards close to her chest.

“Yes, I am. I have to learn to control my powers, and there is nothing I’m searching for.” She knows she has messed up then, spots the gleam in Miss Wardwell’s eyes and quickly settles on the floor. “I appreciate you keeping watch.”

Sabrina doesn’t wait for an answer, doesn’t want to get into deeper conversation or become side-tracked questioning Miss Wardwell’s motivation. Instead, she wraps Zelda’s hair around her finger once more and focuses on the picture in the year book. The incantation leaves her lips and a moment later she’s being squashed by an invisible force.

It’s worse this time, the suffocating emptiness, the iron grip around her body that crunches her bones and crushes her organs. She starts to become light-headed and lost, all light fading from view. And then she’s back in the clearing, head pounding and curled up in agony. For a good long while she doesn’t move, ponders instead how perhaps the human body is too feeble a vessel for such undertaking.

When her vision clears, she tries to stand up but it takes another moment before her legs are able to carry her. The air around her is damp and cool, the breeze moody. It’s not quite winter yet. From the satchel she carries over her shoulder, she uncorks one of the smoothie bottles and swiftly downs its contents. It’s a testament to Aunt Hilda’s magic that the aftertaste is merely fruity.

Through the woods she staggers, shadows following her along her path. It’s harder this time to reach her destination. The train tracks do not yet exist and her magic feels burned, fading, quivering, as though it, too, has become invisible. There is too much darkness everywhere to find the right path and Ambrose’s warning tolls ominously in the back of her conscience.

If it hadn’t been for the procession, she might have turned around and left. But the sight of the lanterns dancing amongst the rows of trees holds her rooted to the spot. They’re beautiful, casting spots of warm amber light here and there. An age-old chant awakens around her and slowly she stumbles along, following the congregation of witches whose long gowns whisper across the forest ground. They are like pilgrims on the path to their shrine.

Auntie Zee with her glistening golden red hair cannot be overlooked. It is she who is leading the march, dignity and grace personified. They only stop when the Academy comes into view and a swarm of black-clad figures steps out to meet them. They are all male and of varying ages, from small pale-faced boys to confident young men. The girls from the procession, however, don’t appear much apart in age, and Sabrina would wager her life that they aren’t a day above 16.

“Sisters!”

A booming, powerful voice slices through the chant and causes a startling hush to settle over everyone. Then a figure clad in gold appears, it parts the crowd of men and comes to a halt in front of the women, looming large. The high priest and principal.

“We welcome you in our midst. May you nourish us, may you fulfil us and continue the potent lineage of the Church of Night in this new land.”

Enraptured, the young witches clap while Sabrina’s face pinches together in a grimace of distaste. It appears that some things not even time can change.

As the students file into the academy, Sabrina stays close to Zelda who – with her head held high – is trying her best to appear disinterested in the whispered conversations that are taking place all around her. Occasionally, her eyes catch on a statue of black marble or an engraving in the wall.

Misinterpreting her silence, two girls take her in their middle and link arms with her. “Who do you have your eye on then, Spellman? Who has left you so positively enchanted?”

In front of them, a boy turns to shoot a look at Zelda. He’s younger than her, tall and gangly with expressive dark eyebrows and a wry smile. He seems strangely familiar. But her aunt pays him no heed.

“Surely it can’t be Father Valac? Could she wish to be the High Priest’s wife?”

Displeasure mixes with hunger in Zelda’s eyes, and she fails to hide it from the boy in front who keeps watching her.

“It would be an honour to marry any of these wonderful men,” she speaks at last. “A privilege even.”

Satisfied, the girls break into shameless giggles and dissolve into further description of their perfect match. Zelda, it seems, withdraws back into her own mind.

They all march on towards the East Wing of the building where the witches’ circular bedchambers are, but before her aunt can set foot into the room, she is yanked back as though by invisible chains. A fleeting expression of pain passes over her features but soon diminishes when triumph wins the upper hand.

“Edward, dear, you really must mean it. Otherwise such magic is utterly pointless.”

The tall, gangly boy peels out of the shadows and Sabrina realises that the familiarity she experienced earlier was because she was very nearly looking into a mirror.

“Why would I ever want to hurt you, sister mine?” he responds playfully, and Sabrina instantly wonders how often they have killed each other already. “I merely wished to welcome you to the academy.”

Aunt Zelda scoffs and brushes her golden hair over her shoulder. “You always were a terrible liar.”

“Well fine,” he shrugs, “I came to ground you a little bit.”

“Ground me? Oh, you know I wasn’t serious about marrying that High Priest.”

“No, but you _were_ serious about finding your perfect mate. About nourishing and fulfilling and continuing the unholy path of the Church of Night.”

“It is the great privilege of us chosen ones. Had I remained in England-”

Sabrina can feel her genuine outrage. It is sharp like a blade and it slices into Edward who momentarily falters, looking disappointed. Then he interrupts impatiently.

“Well, it shouldn’t be. The academy has more to offer than handsome warlocks and frivolous parties.”

Zelda doesn’t answer, not for a long while, instead she puts the palm of her left hand protectively over her middle. Against the backdrop of whispers emanating from the bedchamber, the conflict that rages in her seems almost subdued.

“Mother and father be damned, you _are_ the firstborn Spellman. Do not sell your power, your strength and potential for the sake of a love that should have been unconditional.”

He touches her gently by the shoulder with all the wisdom and fondness of a younger sibling. Then he vanishes, leaving a stricken looking Zelda behind. Almost instinctively, her fingers furl and unfurl against her stomach and Sabrina knows one thing, she cannot possibly return to the present yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to remember how she got here, she wonders fleetingly how much she has missed and who is going to be at the receiving end of her auntie’s wrath, but from behind the dark mahogany door only male voices can be heard, sometimes in a hushed murmur, others swelling in volume.

Chapter 3:

 

Initially, the quality of the additional days she spends in her auntie’s past is no different. Everything is crisp and palpable, and Hilda’s invisibility magic never loses its potency. No shadows encroach on her experience, no darkness grasps for her with sharpened claws. And it is because of this that Sabrina doesn’t notice how her own curiosity, her zeal for answers slowly starts to poison her. The snare is set, and with every day she lingers, her own form starts to fade.

  
Aunt Zelda, as it turns out, is quite the socialite. Not only does she cultivate friendships with even the thorniest of witches, there is also hardly a party she leaves out. And as funny as it is to watch her rigid, devoted aunt dance loosely until the early hours of the morning (or until the bed check puts a sudden end to the festivities) or abandon all dignity thanks to a fire ignited by the punch she consumed, Sabrina has to admit to being in awe of the confidence she possesses. She knows how to move her body, how to flick her hair just so and how to use the honey in her tone to enchant and delight. It’s an enviable quality, Sabrina thinks, and one she has preserved until this day.

She cannot say how many days – or weeks? Months? – into this particular trip into the past it happens, or what it is that side-tracks her, but somehow she loses sight of her aunt and only finds her a little while later hunched over books in the library. She’s barely noticeable as though she has also consumed some kind of invisibility potion, sits tucked away in the furthest corner of the room, the energy of her magic tempered down.

Sabrina carefully wanders towards her, paying close attention not to bump into any furniture along the way. But her aunt is so engrossed in her reading that it is doubtful she would have noticed anyhow. Her fingers are tracing the branches of a masterfully painted tree whose crown proudly bears the Spellman name. It appears she isn’t the only one eager to dive into the past, if also her aunt is doing so in a much less reckless fashion.

But as she bends forward to make out the names of her ancestors, something prickles uncomfortably at the back of her neck. It feels like the whisper of something, a sense of doom and foreboding. And when she turns around, she is staring right into the dark eyes of Faustus Blackwood. He is younger, the angles of his face softer still, but the cold, calculating hunger in his gaze is already present.

“I thought I’d made it clear that if you wish to approach me, Faustus, you may do so just like everybody else. There really is no need to spy on me.”

“But you seemed so engrossed, sister Zelda, that I hardly thought it appropriate to interrupt.”

Sabrina cringes at the oily tone of his voice while her aunt hurriedly slams the book shut and whirls around. “Please, let us dispense with these false pleasantries. What exactly is it you want tonight?”

The heat in their exchange does not escape Sabrina, and she suddenly feels privy to a dangerous game of chess in which neither opponent is likely to reveal their next move.

“Your brother has failed to attend his lesson, and I do not offer my tutorship easily. I thought you might know where he is.”

The change in Zelda’s stance is subtle; she shifts her weight from one leg to the other and moves her hip forward, conjuring out of nowhere an air of defiant challenge. “Am I my brother’s keeper? He’s been at this academy for more than two years without my guidance.”

“True,” Faustus hums, peeling from the shadows, his pale skin illuminated by the faint rays of the moon, “but I was certain your sisterly sense of responsibility compelled you to keep an eye on him. Have you not noticed how his curiosity has already tempted him down the wrong path? Questioning our teachings? Suggesting alterations to our unholy traditions?”

He is naturally taller than Zelda, but Sabrina notices with some satisfaction how he must put more effort into his ominous appearance than she.

“What would your parents say if they knew? He, a Spellman of all people.”

The sharp blade of his insinuations, however, slips smoothly into her flesh and all at once the shame of the consequences turns her eyes glassy and unseeing. Her confidence falters and if also only for a second, it is enough to intensify the greed and satisfaction in Blackwood’s eyes. Then Aunt Zelda brushes a long strand of hair out of her face and tilts her chin up with a surprising amount of grace and pride. Her voice is collected when she speaks next.

“Well, Faustus, whatever it is that has detained him, I can assure you that it must be of utmost importance. I cannot see why else he would forfeit the pleasure of your company.”

And just like that she sweeps past him and out of the library, the book she was studying nowhere to be found.

 

* * *  


The days grow hazy from then on, the images blurry, and gradually even Aunt Hilda’s invisibility potion grows scarce. Sabrina tumbles from minute to minute, almost intoxicated, almost asleep. Perhaps she does succumb to slumber once in a while, because when she comes to next, Aunt Zelda is standing in front of a classroom door in a dimly lit corridor of the academy, her shoulders squared for battle. The roaring electricity of her magic is what helps tether Sabrina to reality, the way it spikes and lashes. Unable to remember how she got here, she wonders fleetingly how much she has missed and who is going to be at the receiving end of her auntie’s wrath, but from behind the dark mahogany door only male voices can be heard, sometimes in a hushed murmur, others swelling in volume. Aunt Zelda furls her fingers and collects her energies, then pushes into the centre of the room where immediately all eyes are on her.

“Sister Zelda, how can we help you?”

Directly before her, Faustus Blackwood rises to his feet. His face is smooth and his smile courteous, but his eyes are blazing with an anger that nearly rivals her aunt’s.

“As a matter of fact, brethren, you can. I understand you have been discussing the origins of our creation of late, and I would like to offer some points of my own.”

Silence descends at once upon the entire chamber but the reaction of the boys differs greatly. Some of the younger ones look incredulous and almost nervous, others look at their peers for guidance while the older ones largely smirk and chuckle. Faustus is one of them.

“We do not doubt your scope for imagination, sister, after all a good midwife must prove to be creative, as well as capable and kind-“

Aunt Zelda’s spine forms one perfectly rigid line; her voice is husky and dark when she interrupts him.

“A midwife is also tough, Faustus, she has to be, and so is a witch who masters the elements. I am not proposing child’s play or flights of fancy. I know who I am and what I can bring to the table. My mother of spirits, Priscilla, was the first female missionary for the Church of Night, without her and her unholy word we could never have spread so successfully. My mother of spirits Francis was hung in the old country so that we might be free. My mother of mothers Evanora and her sister Locasta steered wind and water and ensured that our world remained in balance. You wouldn’t suggest that either of them was feeble or naïve, would you?”

Sabrina finds herself holding her breath, can sense the outrage Zelda’s actions will ignite, how consequences will ripple farther and farther. But she also feels a spark of fierce pride expanding in her chest. Because her aunt is strong and courageous and inspiring.

“So, pray, brethren, will you hear me out?”

Once more, the scene before her dissolves, fading into blurred colours and a strange whirlpool of sounds. Tremors pass through her body, there’s pressure on her lungs. Desperately, she tries grasping on to a wall for support, grasping onto anything, but the skin of her fingers is melting from her bone, disintegrating into particles which disappear into nothingness. Somewhere in the distance a woman is calling her name.

_Sabrina_.

At least she thinks so. Who else could it be?

 

* * *

  
“That was quite the display, sister. You will have ruffled many feathers.”

The air around her is cold, the sky dark. Two familiar figures are standing in the distance. Sabrina squints, but her environment refuses to come into focus.

“Oh, there is no need to look so smug, Edward. It had nothing to do with your little speech. Faustus merely needed to be taught a lesson.”

Her back is aching and damp, perspiration has collected on her skin. She tries to sit up fully.

In the distance, her father hums pensively and then chuckles. “While I fully support that reason, I have to ask, can it be that you grew bored, Zelda?”

Her aunt offers a dismissive tut. “Preposterous. My classes are keeping me fully occupied.”

Finally, Sabrina succeeds in her endeavour, but her head swims terribly. She could swear that someone else is watching them.

“I wasn’t referring to that, as you well know. The warlocks, the festivities, your desperate quest to gain our parents’ approval.”

Zelda’s hand finds its way to her stomach once more, she presses her palm to it as though to cover a gaping hole. “Must you be so dreadfully saccharine, Edward? I have quite accepted my fate and a good long while ago, too.”

She trails off and slowly her brother moves in; he places a hand on her shoulder. Allowing the comfort, her fingers gradually unfurl and smooth down the fabric of her dress.

“But if you so crave the triumph, you were right. They could never love me as they love you. Such is life.” She permits him to draw her closer, and for a moment only silence exists. “The truth is, I came here to find a husband. But not just for their sake, but to have a child. To have something that might love me unconditionally. To have something to carry on my own legacy. I realise now that I was wrong, wrong and selfish.”

It sounds rehearsed, this particular speech, bordering on detached. But Sabrina is beginning to learn that indifference is merely a fine cloak that hides the simmering mess of emotions. And in this instance, she can feel the raw pain underneath, the emptiness her aunt is so desperate to fill. It’s a difficult image to reconcile with the woman she’d thought she’d known her entire life, but it also puts part of her at ease.

 

* * *  


_Sabrina_.

Her head snaps up and the figures are gone. Has she fallen asleep again?

_Sabrina. Come back now. It’s time._

She rocks herself forward onto her toes and remains in this precarious crouching position for a minute. Something dark is slithering towards her from the edge of the woods. Pale white skulls floating in the air; a wide, gaping mouth. She shivers and wraps her arms around herself while standing up. Behind her, the Academy of Unseen Arts is starting to disintegrate one by one.

The shapeless, formless creatures slithers closer still and air drains from the world around her.

_Run, Sabrina, run_.

With her last remaining strength, she pushes herself up and shoots off towards the forest. Everything around her has ceased to be concrete, it’s as though she is running blindly, at the mercy of her instincts, branches whipping her across face and arms.

Something gnarly wraps itself around her ankles and drags her to her knees. Sabrina gasps and cries out in pain, but she isn’t released. She can taste warm earth on her tongue, dampness tingles her nostrils. Death inches away and just behind Him the blistering flames of Hell Fire.

“Sabrina!”

The voice is firm this time, palpable. Strong hands grip her arms, then skim over her torso to assess her vital organs. She can feel magic whispering, tingling, tentatively soothing. What a strange sensation.

She opens her eyes and finds Miss Wardwell’s dark ones looking back at her. They’re momentarily widened with concern, but quickly become guarded again. The strange novelty of the moment passes.

“Can you stand?”

She barely waits for an answer and hoists her up on her feet. Sabrina doesn’t speak, doesn’t wish to express that her legs feel as though they’re made of light itself. Instead, she stares at the ground, at the leather of her shoes, at her leggings. At anything that’s whole and solid and reliable.

“I should have brought you back sooner, but you didn’t budge.”

“Sooner? What do you mean?” she asks at last.

The woods around her are cloaked in darkness.

“If you do not understand the paradigms of time travel, I cannot assist you. Sabrina, you’ve been gone for days!”

It’s the first time that Miss Wardwell has scolded her so soundly. In fact, Sabrina cannot remember a time when she’s looked quite so rattled. It’s an uneasy realisation that settles sharply between her ribs, refusing to budge. So she doesn’t pause to examine it, and instead focuses on something much more acute.

“My aunts will kill me.”

As if to echo the sentiment, a soft meow emanates from behind a tree and a moment later Salem’s dark tail swishes through the air.

“Your familiar is very loyal,” Miss Wardwell remarks, “but he was powerless to save you from the clutches of the past. I hope whatever you were looking for was worth nearly getting killed.”

If she wasn’t feeling so wretched, Sabrina would find it funny how much Miss Wardwell resembles Aunt Zelda in that moment. But guilt is making her insides churn and all she wants is to be back at the mortuary, back at home.

Their walk through the woods is silent, save for the cracking of branches that break under their shoes or the light whisper of grass as Salem darts here and there. The journey stretches on endlessly and soon she needs the aid of the other woman to remain upright on her feet. And oh, how heavy her lids are, how her very bones seem to burn and smoulder.

“Keep your eyes open, Sabrina, we’re almost there.”

Miss Wardwell’s voice is strict, but it helps. It bites itself into her skin and has her walking straighter. And at long last the ominous façade of Spellman’s Mortuary comes into view, the lights burning warm and inviting. All at once, something strange and intimate unfurls from within, kind and tremulous in a manner that brings tears to her eyes.

They take the steps together one at a time until Miss Wardwell’s bony knuckles rap against the front door which is flung open with an immediacy that has her swallow. But it’s not Aunt Hilda’s watery smile that greets her, nor Aunt Zelda’s reproachful frown.

Father Blackwood’s eyes are dark and searching, they slide from her to Miss Wardwell whom he takes in with little more than a subtle raise of one brow.

“Ah, Sabrina,” he says quite naturally, as though he’s not entirely out of place, “your aunts were beginning to worry.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thanks for sticking with this. Hearing your comments here would mean a lot!  
> \- "Am I my brother's keeper?" is a direct reference to "Batibat", because as the oldest, I think that's how Zelda's felt a lot  
> \- I only tweaked the reference to the Spellman ancestors as named in 1x06 slightly. Priscilla was a missionary, Evanora and Locasta are the Wicked Witch of the East and The Good Witch of the North respectively in The Land of Oz  
> \- I chose not to dive into the harrowing in this fic, but it did definitely take place  
> \- Zelda does offer a true reason why she wanted a child at that time and some of the emptiness she carries around, I  
>  promise this will be explored more in later chapters  
> \- yeah that was a Madam Satan cameo there, who else would get Sabrina out of that precarious situation? Of course,   
>  Sabrina only knows her in the appearance of Miss Wardwell...and yes, Madam Satan was worried for a sec - whether  
>  or not she'd like to admit that  
> \- at the moment it looks like there'll be 3 more chapters, but writing often has a mind of its own, so there might be more  
> _ thanks again for the kudos <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She seems wistful, but Sabrina isn’t certain whether the tremor in the air speaks of melancholy or fondness. She considers the harrowing, the segregation of witches and warlocks and tries to picture her aunt. It isn’t the first time that she concludes that Hilda’s kindness is born from marrow-deep strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- sorry for the delay, last week was super busy, then I spent the weekend away in London and didn't get any  
>  writing done, and then this week was full of appointments  
> \- this is a bit of a breather when we move into the 2-3 last chapters (next chapter will either be BIG or split into 2   
>  chapters)  
> \- Hilda sort of hijacked this chapter? But I'm glad she did, she deserves more attention  
> \- if you're reading this and hitting the kudos button or leaving a comment, I love you <3 Thank you :)

Chapter 4:

 

She stares back at him, as though she can melt both versions she’s seen into one, a thousand questions racing through her mind. #

Why is he here?

Does he know what I’ve done?

Has he come for Leticia?

But the house is still standing and both of her aunts who have gradually emerged in the hall are looking nervous or tense at best. No sign of spilled blood, no sign of devastation. For a moment she wonders if she’s still not fully back, if she’s ended up in some strange alternate universe as punishment for lingering too long in the past. But Miss Wardwell’s presence behind her is a strong and firm reminder that this is quite real.

“I found Sabrina in the woods, trying to refine her powers. She got a little carried away, I’m sure we’ve all been there.” Her tone is challenging when she steps forward to extend one hand coquettishly to Father Blackwood. “Mary Wardwell, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The air between them is pulled taut like a rubber band threatening to snap. History crackles like a wayward hex between them and Sabrina realises unequivocally in that moment that they are more familiar with each other than they are letting on.

“Faustus Blackwood.”

Miss Wardwell’s eyes stop to linger the moment they break their handshake and slither instead over Aunt Hilda to Aunt Zelda to whom they cling with a kind of devouring greed that makes Sabrina feel unsettled. It’s as though she can taste the potent secrets in the room like an overripe fruit. And when she smiles her white teeth flash like daggers.

There’s only one strand of hair she’s ever used as her tool to travel in time, and no-one else in this house has such red locks as Auntie Zee.

“Well, I won’t intrude much longer. Sabrina will need rest and a couple of days of nutritious diet, and soon she’ll be right as rain.” She follows the curl of Aunt Zelda’s golden red hair like a fine thread of yarn. But what she is longing to weave, Sabrina cannot tell. “And no more magic, or you’ll be completely burned out.”

“Thank you…Miss...Wardwell,” she manages and at last crosses the threshold.

In the distance, a baby begins to cry and automatically, all attention moves to Zelda. How thick the air is around them all, how Father Blackwood’s eyes seem capable of cutting through it with heated intensity.

She can feel her knees buckle and gapes down in horror at her hands, expecting her skin to dissolve once more, but it remains quite firm, and a moment later Aunt Hilda’s arms wrap around her.

“For Satan’s sake, Sabrina,” scolds Zelda sternly, “I thought you would be more in touch with your powers.”

“She is a full witch now, sister Zelda. Her limitations have changed.”

Their voices are swimming, melding together and through the thick sludge cuts the piercing scream of a babe.

Sabrina shivers and very nearly gags, but Auntie Hilda rubs her arm and gently shepherds her away and up the stairs.

“Don’t you worry now, my darling. Everything is going to be just fine.”

 

* * *  
  


When she comes to next, there’s only darkness, as though a black veil has descended upon her room and the world outside. All light there once was seems to have entered her body; it’s fragile like glass and capable of breaking itself. Her toes are cold like ice.

“When did you sign your name in the Book of the Beast?”

The voice is so quiet that at first she’s convinced she’s imagined it. Then a figure shifts forward in the armchair to her left and she recognises Aunt Zelda’s silky nightgown.

Sabrina tries to gather her wits, but realises soon that she has barely enough strength left to meet this particular tribunal head-on.

“The night of the storm, the night of the Greendale 13. You were gone and Ambrose was gone, and Aunt Hilda and I were trying to hang on…and…and Harvey…” She balls her fists which tremble and shake. “I had to do something to help. You said it yourself, we’re Spellmans and we do what’s right. Besides, I figured you’d be happy that I’ve finally signed my name.”

Aunt Zelda’s eyes are so obscured by darkness that she cannot make out the emotion contained within them.

Seconds tick by and Sabrina’s lids drift shut. She pries them open. Zelda doesn’t move.

“Did she help you?”

Her tongue feels heavy with the weight of the answer, as though she knows the effect the truth will have on her aunt.

“Yes.”

There’s a sigh that perfectly encompasses her own exhaustion, but it’s Zelda who emits it. Yet the thorough scolding Sabrina anticipates never comes. Instead, her aunt rises to her feet and crosses the room to perch on the edge of her bed. She brushes a strand of hair out of her face, and Sabrina can see the muscles in her jaw working, tensing. Her eyes are strange and glassy.

“I owe you an apology. I know I didn’t ask to be whisked away that night, but I should have tried harder to return.”

She doesn’t know what to do with the helplessness that comes with seeing her aunt like that. Perhaps it would be easier to manage if she was in tears. But this…this strange balance of dignity and shame is much too slippery to grasp.

“I know you couldn’t have left. You had to deliver those babies or-“ She cuts herself off and immediately sits up straighter. “The baby!” she repeats, more forceful this time, willing her aunt to understand. She cannot believe that she’s forgotten about Leticia, about the cries she’s heard in the parlour before blacking out.

“Is just fine. Father Blackwood was worried for nothing. Understandable, of course. As a new parent you fret easily. But Judas only has a small cough and Aunt Hilda has given him some of her syrup. He should be fully restored come morning.”

Sabrina blinks once, understanding dawning on her slowly, for her thoughts are sluggish and thick. “Judas…”

Aunt Zelda nods, her eyes filled with compassion and something bitter like regret. The secret of Leticia’s whereabouts does not leave her lips, and she cannot fault her for it. Faustus Blackwood is known in this household for deceit and manipulation, spying would hardly come as a surprise. But still she feels by the tension in the air that the babe cannot be far, that perhaps she even still resides under this very roof. Disguised or protected?

“Now you must sleep, Sabrina. Miss Wardwell was quite right in her assessment; you have overexerted yourself.”

She allows her aunt to tuck her in, every movement efficient and firm. She’s full of purpose, even now.

“I’m sorry I had you and Auntie Hilda worried,” Sabrina offers carefully, wondering if Zelda will come to suspect something soon. Is she acting differently? Is she more apologetic than usual? She cannot tell anymore and her head is beginning to hurt.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” her aunt replies with pinched lips, “and it most certainly won’t be the last.” Her eyes are filled with a fondness that’s otherwise absent in her tone. Then she sobers entirely, her brows drawing together. “But I must insist you re-evaluate your affiliation with Miss Wardwell. I admit she has been of help on one or two occasions, but ask yourself, what do you truly know about her? And why would someone who has been excommunicated from another coven try so very hard to get you to sign your name in the Book of the Beast?”

Sabrina opens her mouth to argue, mentions of an alliance to her father on her lips, but she cannot deny that there’s a truth to Zelda’s words. And so, when she falls asleep, it feels as though she’s under scrutiny of a hundred dark and hungry eyes.

 

* * *  
  


That night her dreams are filled with floating skulls and open, gaping mouths. Infant cries smack the walls of her prison of nightmares and Aunt Zee and her mother are one and the same. Father Blackwood’s ominous voice echoes like a chant around her. She has gone too far, she knows, into a world where the line between past and present are much too blurred. And she doesn’t know how to escape.

Something rasps sharply, like a tie being severed, and then there’s blinding sunlight and Aunt Hilda’s kind face.

“It’s time to wake up, darling. You don’t want to stay asleep too long or you’ll feel like death.”

Sabrina anchors herself on her blonde curls. With both palms, she pushes against the treacherous softness of her pillows until she sits upright.

“What time is it?”

Her head still feels fuzzy.

“Just after lunch time. Father Blackwood left a moment ago with baby Judas.”

A rush of breath that’s like relief.

“He must have been really worried. Perhaps Auntie Zee was wrong about him.” The words don’t feel right on her tongue. She, who was met with the High Priest’s resistance and cruelty at every turn.

Hilda’s smile is understanding as she caresses her cheek with her knuckles. “Maybe. But…but he does have one child already, darling, and I’m not sure she’s been shown as much concern.” The smile on her lips twitches nervously, as though it’s caught between her distaste for the man and the lingering disapproval of her sister’s rash action. She seeks to disguise it by turning around for the tray.

The ebb and flow of silence and clinking of crockery fills the space between them for the next few minutes. It’s comfortable and easy, ripened with age-old familiarity.

“Aunt Hilda?”

“Mmh?”

The older witch continues to fuss with the tray, shifting it here and there to find the right balance. Her fingers twitch about to straighten spoons and knives. Unlike Aunt Zelda, she never quite settles.

“Ambrose found a yearbook at the Academy, one that includes Auntie Zee.”

“Oh, did he, love?” She pauses but for a split-second before her fingers grow busy again.

“Yeah, it had some kind of oil painting of her and it said that she’s a witch of elemental magic and midwifery.”

At last, she interrupts her aunt’s restless movements, takes the mug and guides it to her lips. Hot chocolate, rich, dark and milky hits her taste buds and warms her insides like nothing else since her time travel ordeal. For a moment she forgets to focus, but it hardly matters, as Hilda herself seems entirely lost in thought.

“Yes, that was the basic training for all of us young witches.”

She seems wistful, but Sabrina isn’t certain whether the tremor in the air speaks of melancholy or fondness. She considers the harrowing, the segregation of witches and warlocks and tries to picture her aunt. It isn’t the first time that she concludes that Hilda’s kindness is born from marrow-deep strength.

“I was never much good at it, the elements, I mean. Mind you, there was much to learn from them, and it isn’t so different in cooking. The earth of flour and salt, the water of well, water-“ she pauses and chuckles breathlessly, “milk or syrup, the air you fold into each dough, the fire of finding just the right temperature.”

Again, she chuckles; her eyes have turned glassy. Her affection, her enthusiasm so palpable that Sabrina can feel it expand and crackle. It’s like a charged summer breeze that promises a storm.

“Where was I? Oh yes, elemental magic. I suppose we each find our own medium.” She accepts the mug back and pushes the plate of waffles into her hands in exchange.

“It all sounds very…black and white,” Sabrina ventures after taking a bite. “I bet the warlocks had more freedom to choose.”

Aunt Hilda catches her bottom lip between her teeth and shifts nervously from side to side on the bed. Her hands are busy again, straightening her clothes, arranging the blanket. “It was a different time.”

“And everybody just accepted that? Aunt Zee just accepted that? She’s the oldest, isn’t she? The one to carry on the legacy?”

No food can hope to still the hunger that’s cracked open inside her. She wants to understand, to have something concrete to hold that isn’t tainted by the mists of the past. And it’s so difficult not to divulge how much she knows already. The last thing she wants is to make Aunt Hilda suspicious.

“It’s difficult knowing what your aunt is thinking at the best of times, darling, really thinking. Everything else she's sure to make painfully plain,” the older witch remarks, but it’s all too apparent that she knows more than she’s trying to let on.

It’s always been like that, Sabrina reflects, as though she’s incapable of lying. She can’t quite meet her eyes, her voice turns breathier yet.

So she pushes her a little further. “Do you remember when I had my first day at the Academy? When she told me about her friendships and the fascinating debates she had?”

A flutter of lashes. Just a tiny bit more.

“If she was part of some debate club, why wasn’t that mentioned in the yearbook?”

“Well, they’d hardly make that official now, would they? A sole witch holding debates with the smartest of warlocks?”

Her chuckle is tinged by pride and sadness, and Sabrina finds herself shifting closer and clutching her hands. She’s never considered before what it must be like, the youngest of three, always a step behind. But suddenly her passion for working in the book store in town takes on a whole new spin.

“Darling, I barely knew about this. If it hadn’t been for your father bragging everywhere about his big sister – he was so proud, Edward was – none of us might have known. It was unheard of. You’re not so different, your Aunt Zelda and you. Principled, stubborn, with a very firm moral compass that somehow sometimes leads you down very questionable paths. Which, I…I suppose, brings us back full circle.”

She rises to her feet and looks about the room as though baby Leticia might manifest any moment. When nothing happens, she takes a deep breath and turns to her with a smile.

“Now eat up and get your strength back.”

She makes to turn to the door, then pauses and moves closer to squeeze her tight.

“We were so worried about you.”

The smell of warm bread, waffles and jam lingers long after she’s gone.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, there is no pain, though she seems to be falling endlessly. But she doesn’t fight it; she latches on to the dizzying feeling in her stomach as she drops and drops and drops, knowing that somewhere around her there is a guiding force shining the way.

Chapter 5:

 

It takes weeks before she makes a full recovery but only days to throw all caution to the wind. One last time she ventures out into the forest, or so she tells herself. She doesn’t notify Ambrose or her aunties, nor does she seek out Miss Wardwell for support. Somewhere she knows that she shouldn’t, but she cannot yet formulate why she persists nonetheless.

There are answers Sabrina is desperate to find, but answers to a question she can’t quite grasp anymore. It’s an obsession, this quest, the pull of the past stronger than she had anticipated.

Unsurprisingly, perhaps, it doesn’t stay at one visit. Too many journeys to keep count, too many impressions to process at once. She witnesses her aunt’s search for meaning in both academia and affairs of the heart. The men she engages with are plenty, but Sabrina can feel that that connection – that bond that tethered her so strongly to Harvey – is always absent. Then there are the trips from which she emerges empty-handed, Aunt Zelda nowhere to be found. It’s disorientating at first, as though she’s severed a deeply intimate bond. But soon she begins to realise that her aunt must only be travelling, visiting places Sabrina cannot due to the limitations of the charm.

And then one day, she emerges to find a familiar scolding face hovering over her.

“Gee, thanks for the warning, Salem.”

From behind a tree, her cat emits a plaintive meow.

“Do you really think you would have heard him, Sabrina?” Miss Wardwell questions. Her dark eyes are skimming over her face now, distaste edged into the corners of her mouth. “You are so far gone it’s a miracle you’re even here in body still.”

Groggy from her recent venture, Sabrina pushes herself upright with less dignity than she might have liked. But she is not about to back down.

“And that affects you how, Miss Wardwell? And please, spare me the comments about my father.”

A duality of emotions flickers over the other witch’s face, a little like anger, a little like pain. It tastes as sour, as foreign as Aunt Zelda’s apology. And it momentarily stops the rampaging track of her anger. Because what if Miss Wardwell cares after all? What if she’s made an error of judgement?

Then she remembers Aunt Zelda’s words and firmly clamps down on her weaker emotions.

“And why have you never told me that you know Father Blackwood? The man who nearly forced me to sign my name in the Book of the Beast? Don’t you find it awfully convenient that here I am now, a full witch, thanks to you?”

Miss Wardwell blinks so quickly that the fanning of her dark lashes nearly hides her eyes. Her face, in the meantime, twists into a mask of hurt.

“Sabrina, after everything I have done for you, you question me still? Is it really so inconceivable that a sister of the Church of Night, albeit excommunicated from another coven, would have encountered your High Priest before? We like to associate and entertain in our own circles, don’t we?”

She cannot argue with that, but it is her outrage that feels wrong and uncomfortable, that refuses to settle. Their stalemate lasts for a few minutes; eyes locked they hover in silence.

“I know what it is to be young, Sabrina. We want to change the world, don’t we? Rebel against our elders? Forget the heartache of young love.”

It isn’t a question anymore but a statement, one that bores itself so deep into her soul that Sabrina feels her heart must surely be beating outside her ribcage. It makes her cheeks burn and her insides twist. It’s exposing and revealing. And it’s…a game.

An eternity seems to pass before she notices that she is being played, that Miss Wardwell, unlike Aunt Zelda, is seeking to use her hidden weaknesses to her advantage. Her heartache laid bare not to comfort and care for, but to needle and wound.

Well, Sabrina thinks, Miss Wardwell isn’t the only one capable of playing games. She is a Spellman, after all.

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” she sighs, visibly swallowing the lump in her throat. “I just…I wish Harvey would forgive me. I wish he could see that magic isn’t so bad.”

And although the tears that are clinging to her lashes aren’t an act, she draws strength from knowing that she is in charge of the situation once more. Miss Wardwell can have a fraction of salt and grief if she so pleases, but she will never have a full taste of her heart again.

“He’s barely a man, Sabrina. And they are simple creatures, really. If you want, I could-“

She permits her bottom lip to tremble slightly before heaving a deep and agonising sigh. “No, Miss Wardwell. Thank you. But I…I'd rather not think about him for a while. Dive back into the past.” She waits. A beat or two pass. Miss Wardwell’s attention is fully on her now, and she grasps its greed when she delivers her final line. “I just want to forget.”

She keeps her face a mask of sadness, but when nothing happens – no response, no snide remark, no feigned understanding – she looks up. Miss Wardwell is no longer focused on her. In fact, it is as though she, herself, has retreated to her very own spot in the past. But what to make of it? What to do next?

The moment lasts only a few seconds, but to Sabrina it feels as though she’s suddenly alone in the forest. And the loneliness brings clarity. If _she_ lingers any longer in the past, if she cannot get a grip, then she will look as Miss Wardwell does now. Permanently glassy-eyed. Unfocused. Faded. Neither here nor there.

She clears her throat and leans forward to capture her hands. Once again, the fleeting touch strikes her as strangely intimate. “Will you watch over me one last time? And then I promise I’ll stop?”

They have been here before, but this time she means it.

Only gradually, Miss Wardwell emerges. Her jaw is tense, but her eyes give nothing away. “If that’s what you feel your father would have wanted.”

Sabrina considers this and thinks about Edward, tall and gangly at the Academy of Unseen Arts. A smile brightens her face.

“Yes. I think he might have understood.”

The leafy ground is still moderately warm when she lowers herself back onto it. Cosy and all-encompassing, waiting to embrace her. For a while she watches the crowns of the trees above her sway in the wind. Listens out for the whispers of Miss Wardwell’s magic, the crackling of branches. Then she pulls Aunt Zelda’s strand of hair tightly around her finger and concentrates on the one thing she set out to do, the one question she was hoping to have answered.

This time, there is no pain, though she seems to be falling endlessly. But she doesn’t fight it; she latches on to the dizzying feeling in her stomach as she drops and drops and drops, knowing that somewhere around her there is a guiding force shining the way.

The woods around her, the woods of the past, are possessed by a balmy, mild breeze that speaks of the first, tentative blossoming of spring. And with calm in her belly, Sabrina makes her way to the mortuary once more. The day is beautiful and bright, the sky clear and so the line of black automobiles in front of the house provide an ominous contrast. She pauses while she is hidden still in the line of the trees and empties a bottle of Aunt Hilda’s invisibility smoothies.

Only when her body is entirely vanished does she sneak forward to peer in through the kitchen window. One aunt is busy cooking, the other is nowhere in sight. With her front against the wall, Sabrina rounds the house to peer in through the parlour window. There is a congregation of people but the absence of a coffin or urn and the lack of sad expressions makes her doubt that they have come for a funeral. No, they seem much too nervously hopeful.

Then a piercing cry cuts through the room, so loud and strong that it penetrates the walls and drifts all the way to Sabrina.

A baby? She stands up straighter.

From within the parlour come laughter and applause. But where is Aunt Zee?

For a moment she is tempted to slip in through the front of the house, but the chances of somebody noticing the door open and close on its own accord is too much of a risk to take. So she settles for levitation once more. She nearly circumnavigates the entire building once before she finds mother and child and Auntie Zee in what is now her bedroom. She grasps on to the windowsill and presses herself close enough to watch and listen.

“You’ve done it. You’ve really done it.”

Aunt Zelda, with her back turned to both the mother and Sabrina, doesn’t respond. She’s busy bathing the new-born. Her fingers drift up along its side, lingering long enough to feel the heartbeat. They rub and scrub arms and legs with gentle firmness that brings colour to the babe. They lightly drift across its scalp, washing the soft, light tufts of hair while avoiding hurting any sensitive spots. It’s a routine, but one that in all those years has not lost its affection and fondness.

“It’s true what they’ve been saying. You really are blessed, Sister Zelda. Not one child lost.”

Sabrina cannot see much of the babe’s mother, save for her own matted down hair and pale visage. But there’s a palpable tiredness. The fabric of death hangs heavy like a veil in the room. Ever present although evidently just avoided.

When her eyes drift back to Zelda, she notices how her spine has stiffened, how she is standing a little bit taller.

“Praise Satan,” the new mother mumbles, succumbing to sleep, but her aunt doesn’t seem to share the sentiment.

Gently, she is towelling the babe dry now, but her body is turned inwards so that her shoulder blades stand prominent and sharp against her light blue midwife dress. A cage of hardness and bones, Sabrina thinks, to shield the softness beyond. She swaddles the child in its first robes. A tiny red onesie and a beautiful black gown. She puts socks on its feet and lightly rubs its fingers to keep them warm. Her body shakes. A tear drops like a bullet and buries itself in the wood of the table. The rest of the flood she stems with the back of her hand. By the time she picks up the babe, she is perfectly in control once more. No tremor, no shaking to give her away. And the redness around her eyes might just be due to tiredness.

“You’re a beautiful miracle, aren’t you?” she whispers tenderly, her fingers not once straying from its red little cheeks which she caresses with maternal fondness.

In response, the child emits a small gurgled sound that fades into a yawn. Zelda smiles, but the sadness still lingers. She stays in the room for a couple more hours until the babe has nursed and is sleeping peacefully in its crib. She checks on the mother once more and then leaves the room where Sabrina loses sight of her for what feels like a small eternity. She assumes she must be updating Hilda somewhere or talking to the father. Then, a door slams downstairs and Sabrina hastily descends in time to see her aunt – still clad in her midwife attire, a scarf flung haphazardly around her head – striding with purpose and composure into the woods. Her heels dig into the earth hard enough to leave imprints; imprints she follows as quickly as she can.

It’s easy enough to get lost in this forest, but Zelda navigates her path with confidence as though each tree is a marker and each moss-covered boulder indicates a significant point along the way. Around them, the forest transforms under nature’s power. Man-made trails become extinct and lush greens paint trees, earth and stones like splashes of a brush.

By the time they reach a clearing that strikes her as familiar, Sabrina has to wipe perspiration from her neck and catch her breath. In front of her, Aunt Zelda slowly comes to a stop as well.

“I can feel your eyes on me. Please, show yourself. I must speak with you.” Anger possesses her tone, but behind it, thinly masked, despair.

For a moment Sabrina fears that her potion is beginning to wear off or that her aunt by some strange intuition has come to feel her presence.

“I do not welcome visitors, child.”

Sabrina frowns, struck by the familiarity of the voice. She looks around at the bushes of fern and the chains of moss that clings to branches. Then she realises.

“You heard me out last time, Dezmelda. You will do so again.”

There is a woosh and a whisper of air, a cracking and breaking as the witch finally peels out of the bark of a nearby tree. She is covered in rags and fur, her hair already silver, although her face isn’t quite so old yet. “Haughty, impertinent young Spellman. Your great-great-grandmother would turn around in her grave, she would.”

Something like remorse haunts Aunt Zelda’s features and up close Sabrina can see how tired, how deeply sad she looks. “My great-great-grandmother would understand that I’m in need of your counsel. She’d know that you’d hear me out.”

They hold eye contact while neither of them budge. At last, Dezmelda exhales a heavy sigh and leans upon her walking cane. “Very well. Follow me then if you must.”

Together, they proceed to the old witch’s hut which sits nestled inside the gaping cave underneath a thicket of ancient roots. Dezmelda remains cloaked in silence, preparing tea from herbs and boiled water. A stark contrast, more nature than human, to Aunt Zelda in her fine dress and hair who is perching elegantly on the edge of a tree stump as though she’s about to sup with the Queen herself.

Once the tea has been shared out and the first few mouthfuls consumed, Aunt Zelda cradles the cup in her hands and plunges straight in. “I can no longer be a midwife, Dezmelda. I cannot possibly deliver another child, hold it in my arms only to…to have to give it away. I am fortunate to bring babes into this world, to witness the miracle of their births, it’s true. But it pains me not to call any of them my own. So I must stop, I must pursue the cause we discussed last time, or else I’ll never be free.”

To her surprise, Sabrina notices how Dezmelda’s eyes soften. What anger she carried towards her aunt for her impertinence has already subsided.

“I understand, sister, and you know I support your cause. We have both been robbed, tied down even by the restraints of our Church and of our High Priests. But even if you gained the position you’re vying for it would not give you peace.”

“But I could make a difference. I would have a purpose. Witches of our coven could feel heard and represented. It would only be fair!” Anger and passion infuse her tone and instil in her an aura of absolute power that crackles around her like a live wire.

Whatever this goal is, whatever she is trying to achieve, Sabrina can sense that it is her ticket to freedom. Away from the shackles of midwifery which reduced her abilities to only one skill and provided her with the reminder of that which she most longs for.

Dezmelda takes another drink from her cup, then sets it down on the earthy ground. When she clasps Zelda’s hands in hers, her mismatched eyes are warm and kind. “You’re not yet old, sister. You will live long enough still to see changes realised. But I cannot help you. I am grateful for your great-great-grandmother’s aid in keeping my secret. Her protection all those years ago meant that I could find my feet. I cannot risk all that for a cause that will never be realised. You live in a patriarchy, child. For them to accept a High Priestess they’d have to give up their comfort and their power. And those are two things they never will.”

It’s a bitter pill to swallow and Aunt Zelda’s face contorts in pain under the heavy weight of the truth. Peace seems unreachable as they both continue to sit in silence.

Slowly, light begins to falter between the trees, shadows stretching longer. And as darkness grows, only fireflies illuminate the scene, their tiny bodies flittering here and there.

Guided by instinct, Sabrina slinks to her aunt’s side, hovering close enough to touch, an invisible companion. Her emptiness palpable in the small gap that divides them.

Suddenly, branches crack in the distance and the wind around them picks up. Laughter, soft and light fills the air.

“The spirits have come to play,” Dezmelda explains when Zelda lifts her head, and slowly there’s a hint of a smile. Like a promise of hope. Like a recognition of ever-lasting beauty and innocence in a world that at times feels bleak and lacking.

_“Sabrina! Sabrina, come back. It’s almost nightfall_.”

She blinks, staring off into the distance at the fluttering of frail green wings. Knowing she has to leave, but longing to stay, to comfort, to heal.

_“Sabrina!_ ”

But she hasn’t got her answers yet, although she now understands Aunt Zelda’s impulse to steal Father Blackwood’s child.

She could stay and find out more. She could live in this space between times and forget about Harvey. She could find a way to save her parents and rewrite her own story. She could…

“Sabrina!”

She blinks and suddenly she is back in the present, cradled awkwardly in Miss Wardwell’s arms. Miss Wardwell who is lean and bony and not at all like her aunties. Miss Wardwell who pulled her back from the brink again. Miss Wardwell who cannot possibly be all bad.

“Thank you,” she says and she means it, because she won’t ever return again. But to get her answers, and answers she will have, there is only one card left to play.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a fittingly miserable day when Zelda finally makes the trek deep into the woods to give Leticia to Dezmelda. And rain, too, drifts on sharp breezes through the tree crowns and lathers her skin when she walks back to the mortuary a few hours later.

Epilogue:

  

Darkness catches up with Sabrina before she can make it back to the mortuary. It tickles the back of her neck and leers at her from treetops already entirely consumed. So the light that winks at her from the building in the distance is like a beacon, something hopeful to hold on to while she makes her final passing.

Salem darts between her legs, rubbing his warm body against her when she comes to a standstill; it’s an apology or an offering of peace. Why he does it in the first place, she has no idea. Because Miss Wardwell was right. She wouldn’t have heard him even if he had tried to alert her.

“Thank you,” she says, bending down to pet him, and then he scuttles off into the dark around the house.

She is alone when she enters and alone she remains. Aunt Hilda doesn’t peek her head out curiously, nor does Ambrose’s music drift down from the attic. No infant wail or laughter pierces the silence and Aunt Zelda remains nowhere to be seen.

Sabrina frowns, momentarily gripped by fear, then she climbs the stairs two steps at a time until she reaches her aunt’s bedroom. The terror or “what if” thuds heavily within her as she leans her head against the door to listen. Slowly, so slowly noises emerge. Stifled sighs and unintelligible whispers. Her heart clenches and without knocking, she pushes her way into the room.

“Aunt Zelda?”

The woman in question has barely enough time to react, but still she somehow manages to adjust the babe in her arms and smooth down her hair. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks bearing wet trails of smudged make-up.

“What happened? Was it Father Blackwood? Did he do something?”

She crosses the distance between them in just a few steps and when she peers into the bundle of blankets to find Leticia alive and well, she sinks down next to her aunt in puzzlement.

“No, Sabrina. Nothing tragic has happened in your absence.” The words don’t seem to settle right in her mouth. Her jaw clenches tightly. Her brows draw together. “But…I have decided to give Leticia away. She cannot possibly stay here, Hilda was right.”

Sabrina can tell that her aunt is trying to deliver this news with dignity. So when her voice cracks and her smile grows watery with fresh, unshed tears that cling to her lashes, she pretends not to notice and offers her a moment to compose herself.

“It was a blessing to have Ambrose in the house when Faustus arrived. He could conceal little Letty while Hilda and I did our best to nurse Judas back to health. But given any other circumstance, I am not convinced that Faustus could be fooled. There is a bond between children and parents invisible to the human eye.”

Her voice fades as her mind retreats into the web of thoughts and doubts Sabrina has been trying to disentangle since the beginning.

“Where will she go? You won’t give her back to Father Blackwood, will you?” She extends an arm to lightly rub the babe’s rosy cheek with her knuckles. She is warm and soft, her lips sucked together to the smallest of pouts as she sleeps.

“Oh Satan forbid. I will bring her to Dezmelda who will raise her with care and wisdom and teach her our craft.” If she’s surprised that Sabrina doesn’t ask more questions, she doesn’t show it.

They sit in silence by each other’s side, their bodies touching in a comforting manner.

“Auntie Zee?” It comes out almost meekly. She doesn’t look at her.

“Yes, Sabrina?”

“The other day….well, a couple of weeks ago now when we were on the porch? I asked you if you’d ever wanted children.”

“And I said yes.”

Sabrina glances at her briefly, notices the tension in her shoulders but pushes on nonetheless. “Then why did you never have children, auntie? It’s obvious how much you love Leticia. You’ve taken in me and Ambrose...”

Aunt Zelda blinks as though she is fighting the urge to slip into a moment that’s firmly lodged in the past. She strengthens her hold on the babe. “You know, Sabrina. Sometimes things don’t go our way, no matter how much we want them to.”

“But you’re a witch, and you’re so confident. Surely you could have-“

“Perhaps, or perhaps not. What remains is that it just didn’t happen for me.”

“But Father Blackwood. He knows! When I called you to the Academy because of the harrowing, he was insinuating it, wasn’t he, with that stupid remark of his?”

Once more, Aunt Zelda’s brows furrow. Then she seems to catch on and surprisingly her lips ease into a smile. “Yes, Sabrina. Faustus and I have been opponents for centuries now, and as every worthy adversary he has been perceptive of my weaknesses and sought to exploit them.”

Outrage bubbles up inside her, hot and angry and uncontrollable. It manifests in righteous words spat out in a fluster of sound that makes no sense at all. Oxygen, drawn in with every breath only fans the flames of her ire. And it is to her utmost shock that she notices Zelda still smiling serenely.

“What dear Faustus frequently underestimates, however, is how fleeting power can be. What was once a weakness in his eyes has become a strength. Who else would he have chosen to be his son’s night mother than the woman he accused of being fiercely maternal?”

Pride makes her eyes shine brighter than tears and in that one look Sabrina finds all the fortitude of character she’s come to admire on her visits to the past.

“Have I ever told you how cool I think you are?”

“Cool?” Aunt Zelda repeats, turning the word over in her mouth as though it’s something utterly unsavoury.

“Yeah, cool. I’m sorry you’re going to give up Letty, but I reckon you’re doing the right thing. Dezmelda will protect her, I’m sure, and you can always go and visit, you know?”

The look she receives next is familiar too. It’s softly incredulous but filled with warmth and fondness. It’s as though her aunt is seeing right through her to the part that is new or altered, as though she marvels at the woman she is becoming. Together, they sit for a long time until a cold breeze announces Hilda’s return.

The truth, Sabrina muses as she leaves her aunts to talk, is a funny thing. And sometimes something so small and simple can be sadder than the gravest tragedy. Why Aunt Zelda was denied motherhood, why it never happened, she won’t understand. But at least she is certain now that no matter the tears and heartache, the impulsive decisions to fill an age-old void, she will always do what is right in the end. Perhaps it is time to do the same.

 

* * *

 

It is a fittingly miserable day when Zelda finally makes the trek deep into the woods to give Leticia to Dezmelda. And rain, too, drifts on sharp breezes through the tree crowns and lathers her skin when she walks back to the mortuary a few hours later.

The ghost of a babe she sometimes feels with painstaking certainty in her womb has transformed into the ghost of a babe that once used to sleep in her arms. As so many did after their delivery.

Beads of water are streaking across the sunglasses she has put on so that no-one might see her eyes and the scarf that’s flung around her head is entirely soaked with rain as she stumbles over roots and through soggy soil. She has yet to permit a single sound of her misery to escape.

Steering her thoughts away from tiny fingers furled around her pinkie or the beaming brightness of Leticia’s smile, she conjures up a memory of her last conversation with her niece. It was as though something had shifted between them then. As though, in the blink of an eye, they had met each other anew. The fondness of the moment touches her lips and eases the hard lines on her face.

Onward she stumbles, the light at the end of the forest almost in sight. Her thoughts turn to Faustus, to the future, not that there can be any further sensual entanglement between them now. Too much stands between them, more than there ever did.

She thinks about Prudence, discarded and used, she thinks about Leticia, hidden away, she thinks about Judas, loved and cared for. But when she thinks about Edward, her mind slows. He, too, was the golden child. Every other parallel that follows tastes sour. She lets them pass.

Up, the stairs of the house she climbs, smoothing down her clothes before entering. For a moment she lingers in the hall, vanishes scarf and glasses, and fixes her damp hair. Laughter and the smell of Hilda’s baking drift to her from the kitchen. She draws nearer, close enough to linger in the doorway without being noticed. As always, her sister is multi-tasking. Stirring, mixing, kneading dough, her eyes soft with the affection she holds for the two children seated at the table. Ambrose, laid-back in his robe, Sabrina sharp and intelligent, arguing her case.

Hilda’s eyes meet hers across the room and, subtly, her hands still. Wordlessly she enquires how she feels, invites her to join their family. Zelda nods once, a watery smile on her lips. Then her eyes focus back on the children. Their children. _Her_ children. Almost grown and ever-changing. Undoubtedly challenging. And often, a pain in the butt. She catches a stray tear with the heel of her hand while her other comes to rest above her stomach. Full and whole. For now. For as long as she remembers that she already is a mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thank you again to anyone who read this, left kudos and/or comments. Special thank you to daisygrl and moonshinemadam for your continued support <3  
> \- for all the theories I have as to why Zelda hasn't had children, I settled for "less is more" in this one. It just didn't happen. There was no curse, no bargain with the devil and no known infertility. It just didn't happen, even though she wanted it more than anything.  
> \- Sabrina considers doing what's right in regards to Harvey  
> \- Edward golden child, Zelda like Prudence the oldest but discarded child that could be used as a pawn, Hilda like Letty hidden away and underestimated


End file.
